Intangible
by Ilya Dyre
Summary: Fenris and Hawke through a series of interludes, seeing and learning how to articulate the 'intangible' connection between the warrior and the rogue.


**Author's Note: **All characters/universe are owned by Bioware. This is my first attempt at fanfiction. I'm hoping to extend it into a series of chapters evolving pivotal moments between Fenris and rogue female Hawke. Please let me know what you think! Also, any direction on who to work with to find 'betas' would be greatly appreciated. Best regards, Ilya Dyre.**  
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**Intangible - Chapter 1**

He wouldn't say she was beautiful. Truly, it was impossible to tell. She was cloaked in what looked to be a mismatched hodge-podge of rags and fur, and her face was covered by a strange mask of black, grey and red. So, no, he couldn't say she was beautiful – but there was a certain originality to how she moved.

Fenris smirked from his perch. When he'd spoken last with Anso, he had no idea what kind of unwitting 'help' he was going to receive this evening. As he looked down into the Alienage from the winding staircase, he knew – this was fortitude. It was right. It was time to cull the specter of Danarius from his life.

He briefly considered stepping in to the fray of slavers and mercenaries until he heard the gentle shuffle of feet behind him, shattered whispers and orders were passed down a line. More mercenaries. More of Danarius' minions.

As he unlaced his broadsword, he felt a calm come over him. Raising the sword to first position, his body sighed into a common routine. This is what he had been trained to do, and he would soon test his skills against his former master. In seconds, he sliced three decisive verticals – up, down, and across – downing five opponents while the rest attempted to flank him and the sweeping blade.

His actions did not require thought. He performed them through muscle memory; he was the master now, painting the darkened sandstone with burgundy and the blushing silver of his blade. He took down another two, each more eager than skilled. He found his focus wanting as he searched for sounds from the battle below, just two flights of stairs away - with _her_.

A mage, a series of shades, and six hunters later, he was cleaning his blade in the paltry scrub that passed as grass in Lowtown. He heard silence below. If experience was any judge, his allies had again fallen to the superior number of Danarius' forces… they had bought him enough time, though. He was ready for the next engagement.

He found himself slightly upset by the thought that she, masked and patterned though she was, had fallen. There was an element in the way she moved, it was… he couldn't describe it, couldn't find a word for it. Intangible, but… deadly. He found himself wishing he could have sparred with her, seen it firsthand, and found a way to put words or steps to it – like a dance. Still, he braced for the remnants of the force at the top of the steps; he would use the staircase as a funnel to finish this group before completing the job.

Three beats, and he realized that this time… this time might be different. He found himself moving down the steps, hugging the walls. He heard… was it really giggling he heard? As he reached the landing before the last flight, he realized that two of the women were laughing and carousing while working with the dwarf to search the bodies of the fallen mercenaries. The third woman, a ginger, stood to the side attempting to look stern.

* * *

Hawke was proud of Bethany. The new lightning spell that they'd practiced on the Wounded Coast had yielded spectacular results. While studying with their father, Bethany had always been such a gentle… no, _fragile_ child. No matter her age, she had remained almost a porcelain doll – worried to cast more than a few healing spells or bursts of ice. Bethany had always relied on Carver to take the lead.

Ah, Carver. Maker, he may have been a twit – but he was _her_ twit. Still, Bethany was starting to transform. Starting to talk more… starting to stake a claim in how they moved forward as a family. Hawke was so full of sisterly pride she was about to burst. She did the next best thing. Backing up quickly so that she didn't realize what was about to happen, she came within a hairsbreadth of Bethany and –

OOMPH! With a single dramatic thrust of her hips, she sent her sister sprawling and sputtering to the ground. She was curled over laughing at the dazed expression on Bethany's face so she couldn't anticipate when her _little_ _sweet sister_ rolled from the ground and threw herself at Hawke's legs sending them both to the ground.

Aveline and Varric stood off to the side; Varric was trying to source information from the guard for his 'pamphlet'. They needed to return to Anso, to figure out who 'the elf' might be, but for a moment – the two Hawke sisters needed to release some energy.

"I don't know who you are friend, but you made a serious mistake coming here. Lieutenant, I want everyone in the clearing now!" A brusque, squat and militaresque man called from the entry to the Alienage – disrupting the playful interlude. Hawke scrambled to her feet, pulling Bethany up as she came. They had to brace for another wave. Then, well… she winced as she thought of the chiding to come from Aveline.

* * *

Fenris jumped as one of the men he'd left for dead stepped out into the light. "Captain…" Fenris moved to intercept him, as they both stepped into the light on the landing. The man fell to the ground; this time, for good. Fenris grimaced and headed for her, the Captain was of little consequence.

"Your men are dead, and your trap has failed. I suggest running back to your master while you can." Fenris offered the man an exit; they would meet again shortly. Passing the man, he directed himself to the small group before -

His hand was through the other man's chest before he was fully conscious of the action. He had been touched. The remnants of the man's heartbeat sent signals through Fenris' palm. It was done. The captain lay on the ground, blood pooling around his form. "I am not your slave." It was an afterthought. A promise.

He focused on his purchased quartet of allies, and found himself momentarily speechless. "I apologize…" he looked away from the heart of the Alienage, away from her. The mask was off, and he had seen her eyes.


End file.
